New York
Who Would Steal New York City’s Pigeons? Mother Pigeon Thought She Knew.
Someone is stealing pigeons off New York City’s streets.
Captured in grainy bystander video, it happened on a day in early April in Manhattan, when a man, his face obscured by a low-slung hat, swooped a giant butterfly net over a small flock, scooped up dozens of birds and popped them into the trunk of a car parked on 10th Avenue.
Reviled as rats with wings or, by a slimmer margin, beloved as downy, dirty urban icons, pigeons seem as much a part of New York as its skyline. The sympathetic throw them pretzel chunks, the disgusted kick their way through their sidewalk confabs, and even the agnostic cover their heads when passing below their subway platform roosts.
But who would steal pigeons?
Mother Pigeon, a pro-pigeon activist who feeds flocks of pigeons dressed as a pigeon while also selling felted figurines of pigeons, was sure she had the answer: the two brothers who own a pet store at the edge of Bushwick, Brooklyn. Their shop caters to the city’s dwindling corps of pigeon keepers, and she believes they are reselling the birds for use in live pigeon shoots in Pennsylvania.
And so last month, she and a small collection of pigeon activists showed up at the store, Broadway Pigeons & Pet Supplies, waving placards and chanting on the sidewalk. The owners deny having anything to do with stolen pigeons and say they have been unfairly attacked by pigeon partisans.
But not long after the protest, a new suspect emerged.
Somewhat lost in the conflict is a fact little known to most people: that New York City’s pigeons do, in fact, get snatched with some regularity. There was a rash of thefts in 2017, 2019 and again in 2022, according to Humane World for Animals, which has tracked the nettings. Some of those birds, the organization says, end up as fodder for a controversial but legal sport with committed defenders, in which the main object is to toss a live bird in the air and shoot it.
Dressed in a jacket of felted gray feathers, Mother Pigeon, whose real name is Tina Piña Trachtenburg but who goes by Ms. Piña, crouched in Maria Hernandez Park in Bushwick on a recent weekday, as mottled pigeons tumbled across her hands and shoulders pecking at seed. She earns a living from selling her felt pigeons in parks for between $35 and $75 a piece.
Earlier this month some of her live flock were netted, according to a man whom she pays $10 a day to bird-watch while he hangs out in the park; the flock was less than half the size it was a month ago, she said.
“How sad is this?” she asked, spreading her wings to take in what remained. Tears began to well in Ms. Piña’s eyes. “The propaganda against pigeons is intense.”
This devotion (she calls it “dove-otion”) led her to help organize a rally outside of Broadway Pigeons, casting blame on the two brothers who own it, Michael and Joey Scott, for the disappearances.
Reached at the store, Michael Scott, who had been accused in the past of selling pigeons to shooters, vehemently denied involvement. He said he adored his own 600 pigeons, and was being wrongly and unfairly targeted. The accusations, however, have not dimmed his nearly lifelong love for tending pigeons, he added.
“Show me some pictures of me pigeon-napping, then I’ll start quaking in my boots,” Mr. Scott said in a telephone interview before hanging up.
In a sense, New York’s pigeons belong to the city itself. They are officially designated city wildlife (like raccoons, squirrels and even Astoria the turkey), and it is therefore illegal to trap or kill them.
“I hear from people who absolutely love pigeons, and I hear from a lot of people who are compassionate for all sentient beings but also don’t see the beauty,” said Alexandra Silver, the director of the Mayor’s Office of Animal Welfare. “But I am glad we have a law that spells out that you cannot do this, that you cannot net birds.”
But in Pennsylvania, pigeons are fair game in a sport with a long heritage called flyer shooting. In his law office in Doylestown, Pa., Paul Perlstein, a lawyer and the spokesman for the Pennsylvania Flyers Association, keeps what he says is a 1913 photo of a man sport-shooting pigeons on the Champs-Élysées in Paris; the same city hosted live pigeon shooting as a sport in the 1900 Olympic Games. There has been no accusation that the association has done anything illegal.
In flyer shooting, a bird is tossed by a “columbaire”; once the bird flaps to a certain height, the shooter may take aim.
The pigeons used in the sport are typically “nuisance birds,” according to Mr. Perlstein, that would have been exterminated anyway — pests nesting under bridges, for example, where their highly corrosive droppings can erode pilings.
Indeed, New York City does allow licensed exterminators to kill pigeons. To Mr. Perlstein’s knowledge, no New York City street birds had entered the supply chain of flyer shooting events in Pennsylvania. But there are many clubs and many suppliers. Is there a possibility that someone, somewhere had introduced stolen street pigeons into the events? Maybe.
Inside her workshop in Bushwick, where wire pigeon feet were piled in baskets and a live street pigeon and a fat squirrel darted freely through an open window to the kitchen table, Ms. Piña fretted over the fate of her lost flock and reaffirmed her certainty that the brothers’ pet store was somehow involved. This wasn’t the first time she had targeted the shop: Several years ago, she claimed, she put on a nun’s habit, posed as a customer and secretly released caged birds out of the back of the store. No one, she said, found out.
“She needs help,” said a woman answering the phones at the store who would give only her first name — Lisa, she said — for fear of activist backlash. “She thinks she is a pigeon.”
On April 30, the police arrested Dwayne Daley, 67, of Bushkill, Pa., who they say was scooping up birds in Tompkins Square Park in Manhattan. Officers discovered a truck parked nearby that contained nets and more than 25 pigeons in cages.
Mr. Daley was charged with one count of misdemeanor animal cruelty and released, but he was arrested again the very next day and charged with felony assault for his involvement in an altercation from 2021. Police say he punched a man who tried to stop him from netting pigeons in Brooklyn, knocking out two of the man’s teeth.
In 2007, Mr. Daley was also caught stealing pigeons after a man in East Harlem set up a sting operation to figure out why his beloved pigeon had gone missing. At the time, Mr. Daley said he bred the birds or sold them at auction. “It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong with them,” he said then.
Mr. Daley could not be reached for comment. There is no information suggesting that he is connected with the Brooklyn pet shop.
At the store, Michael Scott said that the attention had unexpectedly doubled his business. He said he had never met Mr. Daley. The April arrest, he said, meant that activists targeting him and his brother were “flying to the wrong coop.”
Mother Pigeon, however, was unapologetic. As she nursed a one-eyed pigeon back to health in her apartment and absorbed news of Mr. Daley’s arrest, she said she still believed the Scotts were up to no good and that she and her group already have plans to protest the shop again.
“If someone came in and took 10 dogs from the dog park, they would have been convicted,” Ms. Piña said. “Pigeons are not considered an animal that people feel they need to love and protect,” she added. “It’s hurtful.”
New York
Vote For the Best Metropolitan Diary Entry of 2025
Every week since 1976, Metropolitan Diary has published stories by, and for, New Yorkers of all ages and eras (no matter where they live now): anecdotes and memories, quirky encounters and overheard snippets that reveal the city’s spirit and heart.
For the past four years, we’ve asked for your help picking the best Diary entry of the year. Now we’re asking again.
We’ve narrowed the field to the five finalists here. Read them and vote for your favorite. The author of the item that gets the most votes will receive a print of the illustration that accompanied it, signed by the artist, Agnes Lee.
The voting closes at 11:59 p.m. on Sunday, Dec. 21. You can change your vote as many times as you’d like until then, but you may only pick one. Choose wisely.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Two Stops
Dear Diary:
It was a drizzly June night in 2001. I was a young magazine editor and had just enjoyed what I thought was a very blissful second date — dinner, drinks, fabulous conversation — with our technology consultant at a restaurant in Manhattan.
I lived in Williamsburg at the time, and my date lived near Murray Hill, so we grabbed a cab and headed south on Second Avenue.
“Just let me out here,” my date said to the cabby at the corner of 25th Street.
We said our goodbyes, quick and shy, knowing that we would see each other at work the next day. I was giddy and probably grinning with happiness and hope.
“Oh boy,” the cabby said, shaking his head as we drove toward Brooklyn. “Very bad.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in horror.
“He doesn’t want you to know exactly where he lives,” the cabby said. “Not a good sign.”
I spent the rest of the cab ride in shock, revisiting every moment of the date.
Happily, it turned out that my instinct about it being a great date was right, and the cabby was wrong. Twenty-four years later, my date that night is my husband, and I know that if your stop is first, it’s polite to get out so the cab can continue in a straight line to the next stop.
Ferry Farewell
Dear Diary:
On a February afternoon, I met my cousins at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Their spouses and several of our very-grown children were there too. I brought Prosecco, a candle, a small speaker to play music, photos and a poem.
We were there to recreate the wedding cruise of my mother, Monica, and my stepfather, Peter. They had gotten married at City Hall in August 1984. She was 61, and he, 71. It was her first marriage, and his fourth.
I was my mother’s witness that day. It was a late-in-life love story, and they were very happy. Peter died in 1996, at 82. My mother died last year. She was 100.
Peter’s ashes had waited a long time, but finally they were mingled with Monica’s. The two of them would ride the ferry a last time and then swirl together in the harbor forever. Cue the candles, bubbly, bagpipes and poems.
Two ferry workers approached us. We knew we were in trouble: Open containers and open flames were not allowed on the ferry.
My cousin’s husband, whispering, told the workers what we were doing and said we would be finished soon.
They walked off, and then returned. They said they had spoken to the captain, and they ushered us to the stern for some privacy. As the cup of ashes flew into the water, the ferry horn sounded two long blasts.
Unacceptable
Dear Diary:
I went to a new bagel store in Brooklyn Heights with my son.
When it was my turn to order, I asked for a cinnamon raisin bagel with whitefish salad and a slice of red onion.
The man behind the counter looked up at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
Teresa
Dear Diary:
It was February 2013. With a foot of snow expected, I left work early and drove from New Jersey warily as my wipers squeaked and snow and ice stuck to my windows.
I drove east on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which was tied up worse than usual. Trucks groaned on either side of my rattling Toyota. My fingers were cold. My toes were colder. Got to get home before it really comes down, I thought to myself.
By the time I got home to my little red bungalow a stone’s throw from the Throgs Neck Bridge, the snow was already up to my ankles.
Inside, I took off my gloves, hat, scarf, coat, sweater, pants and snow boots. The bed, still unmade, was inviting me. But first, I checked my messages.
There was one from Teresa, the 92-year-old widow on the corner.
“Call me,” she said, sounding desperate.
I looked toward the warm bed, but … Teresa. There was a storm outside, and she was alone.
On went the pants, the sweater, the coat, the scarf, the boots and the gloves, and then I went out the door.
The snow was six inches deep on the sidewalks, so I tottered on tire tracks in the middle of the street. The wind stung my face. When I got to the end of the block, I pounded on her door.
“Teresa!” I called. No answer. “Teresa!” I called again. I heard the TV blaring. Was she sprawled on the floor?
I went next door and called for Kathy.
“Teresa can’t answer the door,” I said. “Probably fell.”
Kathy had a key. In the corner of her neat living room, Teresa, in pink sweatpants and sweaters, was sitting curled in her armchair, head bent down and The Daily News in her lap.
I snapped off the TV.
Startled, she looked up.
“Kathy! Neal!” she said. “What’s a five-letter word for cabbage?”
Nice Place
Dear Diary:
When I lived in Park Slope over 20 years ago, I once had to call an ambulance because of a sudden, violent case of food poisoning.
Two paramedics, a man and a woman, entered our third-floor walk-up with a portable chair. Strapping me in, the male medic quickly inserted an IV line into my arm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his partner circling around and admiring the apartment.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” she said. “Do you own it?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, all but unconscious.
Once I was in the ambulance, she returned to her line of inquiry.
“Do you mind me asking how much you paid for your apartment?”
“$155,000,” I croaked.
“Wow! You must have bought during the recession.”
“Yeah” I said.
They dropped me off at Methodist Hospital, where I was tended to by a nurse as I struggled to stay lucid.
At some point, the same medic poked her head into the room with one last question:
“You wouldn’t be wanting to sell any time soon, would you?”
Illustrations by Agnes Lee.
New York
They Witness Deaths on the Tracks and Then Struggle to Get Help
‘Part of the job’
Edwin Guity was at the controls of a southbound D train last December, rolling through the Bronx, when suddenly someone was on the tracks in front of him.
He jammed on the emergency brake, but it was too late. The man had gone under the wheels.
Stumbling over words, Mr. Guity radioed the dispatcher and then did what the rules require of every train operator involved in such an incident. He got out of the cab and went looking for the person he had struck.
“I didn’t want to do it,” Mr. Guity said later. “But this is a part of the job.”
He found the man pinned beneath the third car. Paramedics pulled him out, but the man died at the hospital. After that, Mr. Guity wrestled with what to do next.
A 32-year-old who had once lived in a family shelter with his parents, he viewed the job as paying well and offering a rare chance at upward mobility. It also helped cover the costs of his family’s groceries and rent in the three-bedroom apartment they shared in Brooklyn.
But striking the man with the train had shaken him more than perhaps any other experience in his life, and the idea of returning to work left him feeling paralyzed.
Edwin Guity was prescribed exposure therapy after his train struck a man on the tracks.
Hundreds of train operators have found themselves in Mr. Guity’s position over the years.
And for just as long, there has been a path through the state workers’ compensation program to receiving substantive treatment to help them cope. But New York’s train operators say that their employer, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, has done too little to make them aware of that option.
After Mr. Guity’s incident, no official told him of that type of assistance, he said. Instead, they gave him the option of going back to work right away.
But Mr. Guity was lucky. He had a friend who had been through the same experience and who coached him on getting help — first through a six-week program and then, with the assistance of a lawyer, through an experienced specialist.
The specialist prescribed a six-month exposure therapy program to gradually reintroduce Mr. Guity to the subway.
His first day back at the controls of a passenger train was on Thanksgiving. Once again, he was driving on the D line — the same route he had been traveling on the day of the fatal accident.
M.T.A. representatives insisted that New York train operators involved in strikes are made aware of all options for getting treatment, but they declined to answer specific questions about how the agency ensures that drivers get the help they need.
In an interview, the president of the M.T.A. division that runs the subway, Demetrius Crichlow, said all train operators are fully briefed on the resources available to them during their job orientation.
“I really have faith in our process,” Mr. Crichlow said.
Still, other transit systems — all of which are smaller than New York’s — appear to do a better job of ensuring that operators like Mr. Guity take advantage of the services available to them, according to records and interviews.
A Times analysis shows that the incidents were on the rise in New York City’s system even as they were falling in all other American transit systems.
An Uptick in Subway Strikes
San Francisco’s system provides 24-hour access to licensed therapists through a third-party provider.
Los Angeles proactively reaches out to its operators on a regular basis to remind them of workers’ compensation options and other resources.
The Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority has made it a goal to increase engagement with its employee assistance program.
The M.T.A. says it offers some version of most of these services.
But in interviews with more than two dozen subway operators who have been involved in train strikes, only one said he was aware of all those resources, and state records suggest most drivers of trains that strike people are not taking full advantage of them.
“It’s the M.T.A.’s responsibility to assist the employee both mentally and physically after these horrific events occur,” the president of the union that represents New York City transit workers, John V. Chiarello, said in a statement, “but it is a constant struggle trying to get the M.T.A. to do the right thing.”
New York
Video: Protesters Arrested After Trying to Block a Possible ICE Raid
new video loaded: Protesters Arrested After Trying to Block a Possible ICE Raid
transcript
transcript
Protesters Arrested After Trying to Block a Possible ICE Raid
Nearly 200 protesters tried to block federal agents from leaving a parking garage in Lower Manhattan on Saturday. The confrontation appeared to prevent a possible ICE raid nearby, and led to violent clashes between the police and protesters.
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[chanting] “ICE out of New York.”
By Jorge Mitssunaga
November 30, 2025
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